Operation Snuggle Bear
by Evil Cosmic Triplets
Summary: Nothing can get through Nick Fury's tough, outer exterior, and that's how he likes it. (Or, where Fury gets his very own snuggle bear, and doesn't kill Stark.) Rated for mild language; follows, "Barton," and features slashy elements, as well as cuddles - Steve/Tony, Clint/Coulson


**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters of this work of fiction (aside from the snuggle bear - not related to the one in the commercial - and well, Tony's claiming to own snuggle bears, says he's got a patent on them, I'm too tired to argue - I own nothing), and no profit, monetary or otherwise is being made through the writing of this.

**A/N: **Written for cottoncandy_bingo, round two - making someone smile.

* * *

Director Fury was often in a foul mood, and when he wasn't in a foul mood, he was merely in a less-foul mood. At least that's how Tony saw it. He'd never seen the man happy, ever, and Tony wanted to fix that. As a matter-of-fact, he felt duty-bound to fix it, because he had a suspicion that some of director's foulness was due, in part, to him joining the Avengers, even when Fury had been against it.

Tony had considered the idea that perhaps the reason he only saw Director Fury in different shades of foul, was because the man didn't like him – and then summarily brushed that idea off as completely ludicrous – a lot of people didn't like him, and they didn't have permanent scowls affixed to their faces. No, the director was constantly in a foul mood for some other reason.

Maybe it was the overwhelming responsibility of running a somewhat underground network of superheroes that had etched an eternal frown upon the man's face. Or, maybe it was the eye patch, an ever constant reminder of the bad crap that mankind visited upon one another on a daily basis.

Whatever the reason, Tony had a plan to turn the director's frown upside down, and that plan involved a carefully crafted snuggle bear. Creating the perfect bear for Director Fury wasn't the hard part. Tony had no difficulty in designing the bear, and programming it to suit what he felt the director's needs were.

And, in any case, the bears, being AI, seemed to somehow 'know' and adjust to their human counterpart's needs. It was uncanny how each and every bear that Tony had made for his friends had found a niche in their lives that only that specific bear could fulfill. That was something he couldn't logically account for in the programming alone. Perhaps there was magic afoot. If there was, Tony didn't want anything to do with it.

The difficulty lie, not in making the bear – it was ready and sitting in his workshop, waiting to meet Director Fury – but in how to get the bear to the director without having it summarily tossed out, or destroyed. It would take stealth and finesse, both of which Tony thought he possessed, but which Steve assured him, on several occasions, he did not. At least not the kind of stealth and finesse that was needed to sneak a snuggle bear, undetected, into the director's office.

"I love you, Tony, but Director Fury's going to smell you a mile away." Steve draped an arm over Tony's shoulder and planted a kiss on his cheek.

"I'll do it," Natasha said, popping a grape into her mouth and giving them a feral grin.

"You'll do what?" Coulson asked.

Stepping into the dining room, he straightened his tie, and ignored the naked look of longing that Clint was shooting in his direction. Judging by the pout on the archer's face, Coulson had cut their tryst shorter than Clint wanted.

"Nothing," Natasha said, and plucked an apple from the bowl of fruit. Taking a bite from the apple, she shot a wink at Tony, and then left the room.

Coulson sighed, heavily, a little warily, and he gave Tony a look which made him squirm, but, bolstered by Steve's tight grip on him, Tony merely smiled at the agent, and sipped at his coffee. If Steve hadn't been there, he'd have babbled out a confession. Coulson made him nervous for reasons Tony didn't care to explore.

"Easy there," Steve leaned down and whispered in his ear, and he gave Tony's shoulders a gentle squeeze.

Tony took another sip of coffee, and leaned against Steve. It was nice having someone like Steve in his life, someone he could lean against when things were difficult or awkward. Someone he could seek refuge in when the storms of life assailed him.

Coulson raised an eyebrow when Tony remained silent, and Clint sidled up to him, wrapping an arm around his waist. Tony hid a smirk behind his coffee cup when Coulson stiffened and frowned at the archer, putting some space between them.

"We all know what's going on between you two," Tony said around a swallow. "You don't need to hide from us. It's not like anyone's going to say anything."

Coulson blushed, and Clint shot Tony a murderous look. Steve tightened his grip on Tony, and Tony took another sip of coffee, because right now he needed as much caffeine as he could get.

He wondered what Natasha's plan was, how she was going to plant the snuggle bear in Director Fury's office without getting caught, and without having the director tie it to him – at least not right away. There was no way that Fury wouldn't be able to track the bear to him, eventually, but Tony wanted to make sure that the bear had time to work its enchantment upon the man before that happened.

"Fine," Tony said, holding the hand not gripping his coffee out in a placating fashion. "You keep your secrets, and I'll keep mine." He gave Coulson as innocent a smile as he could manage and then tugged Steve toward the living room, and away from the openly scowling agent and archer.

Plopping on the couch, Tony nestled against Steve's side, and yawned. Twining his and Steve's fingers together, Tony rested his head against Steve's chest, and listened to the man's steady heartbeat. He was tired, would love to still be in bed even now, but Steve was an early riser, and Tony could no longer kid himself – without Steve in the bed, he couldn't sleep.

Covering another yawn with his nearly empty coffee cup, Tony closed his eyes, intending to rest them for just a moment. His just a moment stretched out far longer than that and Tony was completely unaware of when Steve wrested the coffee cup from his hand before it could fall to the floor. Tony remained oblivious when Steve shifted them so Tony's head was in his lap, his legs stretching out to the other end of the couch, and the afghan that Pepper gave them for their anniversary was draped over the rest of him.

Sighing in contentment, and snuggling in Steve's lap, Tony napped, and remained blissfully unaware of Coulson's continued interest in the plans that Natasha was executing, fretting over the possible repercussions, and the mess that he'd have to clean up when all was said and done. Tony was only dimly aware of Steve's fingers combing through his hair, alternately massaging and lightly scratching his scalp, trusting that Natasha would not get caught on her latest mission.

* * *

Director Fury listened to the voice on the other end of the line, and massaged his temple. He took a deep breath, prepared to say something in defense of the Avengers, but bit it back when the President continued to rant at him, complaining, very loudly about the latest mess that the Hulk had left in his wake. The fact that the green giant had saved the United States from being overtaken by an alien threat seemed to be an irrelevant point to the President, and Fury bit his tongue, hard enough to taste blood.

Fury pinched his nose, and silently counted to ten, and then to twenty as the President continued to chew him out. They'd saved the world, but because fifth and Elm had been left a mess, which the Avengers were cleaning up, the President was giving him an ulcer.

It wasn't fair, and Fury wanted to tell the man where to shove it, but he wanted to keep his job even more. Someone needed to act as the go-between for the superheroes of the world, and the less-than-thankful, unforgiving assholes they protected on a daily basis. It might as well be him.

He took a swig from his flask, and frowned at the phone, pulling it away from his ear to stop the ringing. The President seemed to be winding down and running out of steam, and Fury rolled his one good eye when the man told him to, _"…put the Hulk on a leash, or something, would you?"_

He'd get right on that. Fury kept the sarcasm to himself, and thanked the president for his call, promising that he'd do his best to keep the superheroes, particularly those classified as Avengers, under control. Before signing off with the President with a one-fingered salute that he knew the President would never find out about, because not even the President could tap his office, he popped two aspirin into his mouth and dry-swallowed them, grimacing at the chalky taste.

It was going to be a very long day. Fury stretched his back, and hit the call button for his secretary, telling him to hold all calls until further notice. He had a couple of files to look over – potentials with superpowers for agents to check out before things got out of hand, and people died – and he didn't want any interruptions.

He glanced at his watch, and shook his head when he realized that it was not yet ten, and already he'd dealt with a mad (as in angry) scientist, a worried diplomat in China, and an irate President. And it wasn't even Monday. It was smack dab in the middle of the week, he almost groaned aloud when he realized that he still had two more days of this shit to deal with before the weekend, and, if the shit hit the fan, then he wouldn't even _get _a weekend. Not that he ever really got a weekend, but it was something that he liked to dream about every now and again.

He rolled his shoulders, and cracked his knuckles, settling in for the long haul when something on his desk moved. At first he thought he was imagining things, and he blinked and then rubbed his good eye, turning in the direction of where he'd thought he'd seen the movement.

What he saw, sitting on the corner of his desk – a brown teddy bear, donning a straw hat, an eye patch, and a black leather jacket – caused him to do a double check. It hadn't been there when he'd walked into his office earlier that morning. He'd have remembered it if it had. A bear like that would've been impossible, even for a man with only one eye, to miss.

When the bear remained on the corner of his desk, the papers that he'd set there just last night, completely unmolested, Fury sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. He regarded the bear for a good solid minute, and the bear remained steadfast in its pose – arms crossed, almost in a mockery of the pose that Fury was holding, stitched mouth downturned in a frown that no doubt mirrored the one that Fury was gracing the stuffed animal with. If he wasn't mistaken, the bear bore a striking resemblance to him.

Fury wasn't sure if he should be offended, flattered, or if he should press the red alert button signaling that headquarters had been compromised. When he lost the staring contest with the bear, turning to look at the files that he'd intended to delve into before discovering the teddy, he sighed and sniffed the contents his flask. It didn't smell off, so he hadn't been poisoned, and a quick check of the bottle of aspirin revealed that it wasn't expired, and it hadn't been tampered with either.

Sighing, and leaning closer to the bear, which seemed to have shifted – it's arms no longer crossed over its chest, but held out as though reaching for him – Fury sneered at it, and jabbed a finger into its furry tummy.

Fury looked directly into the bear's one good eye – it was golden along the outer edge, giving it the appearance of having an iris and a pupil – and addressed whoever the hell was on the other side of the camera that he assumed was housed in the bear. "Listen up, whoever you are; I don't know how you managed to sneak this spyware into my office, but…"

The bear shifted forward, and Fury swore, backing up before he could stop himself. He prided himself on being a man who wasn't easily moved. He could face down the toughest of the tough and not flinch. Hell, he'd looked Death in the face and had come out the victor, but a small teddy bear bending forward, reaching out to him freaked him out. It wasn't natural.

"Just stay where you are," Fury said, shaking. Things did not make him shake. He was immovable. A man of action. A man who was not going to be cowed by a cute, cuddly teddy bear in his very own office.

He growled, and leaned forward, giving the bear his most menacing look – a look which had made field agents nearly wet their pants – but the bear didn't flinch, didn't back up. It held its ground, and, if Fury wasn't mistaken, it inched even closer.

Swallowing hard, sweat building on his upper lip, Fury found himself unable to move, at all. It wasn't a feeling he was used to – naked vulnerability – and he tried to fight it off, but was powerless to do anything as the bear crept closer, finally wrapping it's fuzzy arms around him, engulfing him, not in the stranglehold that he half-feared was coming, but in a hug.

He was momentarily stunned, unable to breathe, unable to think, unable to move. The bear snuggled closer, and Fury breathed in cinnamon, peppermint, and, oddly, whisky – scents which brought to him an image of a home he'd left behind long ago – and he smiled. Fury held his breath, and then he closed his eye, and leaned back in his chair, carrying the bear along with him.

Unwittingly, he wrapped his arms around the bear, hugging it close, and, coming to himself seconds, maybe a minute later, he pulled the bear away and gave it a stern look, raising an eyebrow. It hit him then, where the bear had come from and he shook his head, chuckling.

He could, probably should, kill Stark for this, but as he looked at the bear, now sitting on the edge of his desk, looking for all the world like it was watching him, waiting for him to decide what he was going to do next, Fury found that he didn't want to do that.

"I've got work to do," Fury said to the bear, pushing it a little to the side, where it wouldn't be in the way of his work, but where he could still keep an eye on it. He felt more foolish than he had in a very long time, talking to a scowling teddy bear, but found that he really didn't care.

Besides, no one would know if, every now and again, he took a moment to acknowledge its presence, letting his fingers brush across the soft, silky fur.

* * *

Reviews give me warm fuzzies, not unlike the hug of a teddy bear - give me hugs? Please?


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